Guess Who?
by MagicMan01
Summary: So I was just sitting on the train coming back from school, bored out of my mind and just wanting to get home when certain... stuff happens. Stuff involving an internationally wanted criminal, me making a complete ass out of myself, and oh yeah, apparently the world's greatest detective. You know, nothing too special, right? Written in first-person... as myself. Oneshot.


**Well, at this point in time, I've basically lost all faith whatsoever in myself because of the sole fact that I am inserting **_**myself**_** - self-inserting, if you'd like the technical term for it - into an original story of mine. Like, I am **_**literally**_** the main character in this oneshot that also contains actual characters from **_**Death Note**_** who I will be interacting with in some way or another. I can perfectly understand if just the thought of this overall concept might cause you to feel queasy and may or may not result in some rather nasty projectile vomit hitting your screen, but I figured I might as well just give you all a fair warning beforehand to avoid leading you down a false road and getting your hopes up for something you thought would be awesome before realizing it's a total piece of shit. Ha ha ha.**

**I guess the main idea behind this story was for me to try something I've never done before and just see how it goes. I suppose I'm also trying to deviate from the typical self-insert or even (gulp) Mary Sue you would see here and put my own original spin on it. I still feel like the biggest hypocrite ever though, because pretty much every self-insert I've ever read has never really appealed to me even in the slightest. Anyway, if you do so feel inclined to read this pathetic excuse for a story, I would very much appreciate a review with your overall thoughts on it. Thank you.**

**Warning: Naughty language throughout, plenty of self-deprecation, and just general sarcastic snarky-ness from my end.**

**-Disclaimer- The only thing I own in this story is myself, and that ain't much.**

* * *

_**Guess Who?**_

The time is 3:16 p.m. on a Friday and it's about midway through the month of May. The weather is fair, I'd have to say; partly cloudy skies, constant sunshine, a bit of light wind, just basically a typical spring afternoon. It's about seventy degrees Fahrenheit - I would give it in Celsius if I could, but I really don't feel like trying to convert that shit from standard to metric at the moment... or _ever_, for that matter - outside right now and apparently it's supposed to go down to like sixty-one tonight or somewhere around there. However, knowing the meteorologists around here, there'll probably be a goddamn F5 tornado that comes out of fucking nowhere and sucks me in before transporting me to the magical Land of Oz or some shit.

...Did you pick up on the sarcasm there?

The light rail transit train I'm on is doing what feels like ten miles per hour and I really wish it would go faster. Maybe I could ask the driver to hurry it the hell up or something? Nah, he'll probably just get pissed off at me and give me the good ol' one-fingered salute while simultaneously slamming on the brakes to send my skinny ass face first to the floor and make up some bullshit story to cover it up later on like, "I swear to God, this kitten just darted out onto the tracks and I had to stop right then and there or else I would've hit it!"

Yeah, let's just forget I ever had that idea...

I'm sitting in one of those sideways-facing seats up against the window that most passengers don't want - myself included - but I don't have much of a choice due to the sheer amount of (gulp) other _people _around me. I put the emphasis on the word "people" because I'm not exactly what most others would call a "people person." Like, people are honestly one of my least favorite things to deal with on a daily basis, but fuck, there're about seven billion of them on this planet besides only myself so I might as well just suck it up.

My backpack sits on the floor in between my legs and I glance down at it with dread because of my knowledge of what lies inside of it for me once I get home: a _fuck load_ of homework. I guess my lovely teachers thought it would be utterly delightful to fill it to the brim with what feels like at least fifty pounds worth of shit that's due tomorrow and I'm clearly reminded of this painful fact every time the train makes even the slightest turn or stops because my backpack slides right into either one of my legs and nearly tips over just due to its sheer weight.

This very thing happens yet again and I give my backpack a pissy glare, narrowing my eyes at it and imagining myself choking the life out of it if it were alive. Gettin' real tired of your shit, you little fucker. I move it back upright and clamp my legs down on either side of it to hold it there like a vise and for some reason I happen to just stare at my legs for a good minute or so. It's May so, naturally, I'm wearing cargo shorts. My _God_, am I pale.

I'm also wearing a light colored T-shirt, tennis shoes and a baseball hat with said pants. Hey, I never said I had a fashion sense.

As the train lurches forward once more after yet another stop, I think about doing my homework and trying to get at least some of it done here on the train before I get back home. This thought lasts for a little less than a mere five seconds before I just quietly chuckle to myself and shake my head. Good one, me.

Instead, I sigh heavily and let my head fall back against the top of the seat... well, if you can call it that. It's more like a big, chair shaped piece of steel with about half an inch of felt on it, giving it the appearance of an actual seat before you sit down and think, "Oh, well this isn't very comfortable at all!" I close my eyes, pull the brim of my hat down so it's covering them, cross my arms over my chest and try to get some sleep between now and when I get off. I got my average four hours of rest last night so I'm fucking tired and just want Mr. Sandman to slip me some Tylenol PM so I can wake up in oh, say, a month from now. Just before I close my eyes, I happen to see some guy get on wearing a trench coat and a bowler hat, but I pay this tackiness no mind and try to stare at the insides of my eyelids for at least a few minutes.

* * *

And as it turns out, a few minutes is all I get because the next thing I know I feel someone breathing right into my ear. My eyes shoot wide open as I bolt upright and whip my head to the side in the general direction of where I felt the breathing coming from. When I see just exactly who - or _what_, maybe - sits beside me and how close they are to me, I give a little jump and back up as far away as I can from this person.

The human being - or so I believe it to be one - who sits next to me isn't really even "sitting" at all, but rather crouching on the seat, knees drawn up to their chest and an arm wrapped around them. A long, spidery thumb is up to their mouth and they appear to be teething it almost like an infant would as they tilt their head curiously to the side and regard me with the biggest, darkest eyes I've ever seen.

I swallow hard, almost shaking in fear just at the sight of this... _guy_? Yeah, I think it's a guy...

He doesn't say anything to me and until he does, I'm sure as _hell _not saying anything to _him_. I take the opportunity of the long, drawn-out awkward silence between us to get a better look at his - yes, I'm about ninety percent sure it's a guy now - face, starting with his hair and working my way down.

For starters, he's got probably the messiest hair I have _ever_ seen in my entire life. Like, dude, it's called a "comb"; you should really try it some time. It seems almost... spikey, if that makes any bit of sense. I wonder if I would actually cut myself and start bleeding if I happened to accidentally brush my hand against it.

His eyes are fucking _huge _and it feels like they are literally staring directly into my soul, black and bottomless... also like my soul. His eyelashes are pretty thin and I'm sure he's got eyebrows somewhere under that shit ton of hair, but I don't care quite enough to look. I'm more distracted by the two dark crests under his eyes and I wonder to myself if it's just eye shadow or if he's actually _that much _sleep deprived.

His nose is slightly tilted up, kind of like... I don't know, Kevin Bacon's? I know that's a pretty shitty comparison, but it's honestly the best one I can make.

His cheekbones are high and I can pretty much _see them_; like, literally see the actual _cheekbones_. Jesus Christ, it looks like someone took an inch of skin and then wrapped it as tightly as they could around this guy's face.

His lips are slightly parted and they hardly have any color to them at all; pale pink maybe, but that's pretty much it. And lastly, below the lips is a pointed chin, which seems to be the only normal thing about him.

I gulp when I realize just how pale and thin he really is. He looks like he's never seen a ray of sunshine in his life... or maybe he's like an albinoid or something? I suck at math and I'm not very good with estimating measurements and whatnot right off the top of my head, but I'd say he couldn't be much over 110 pounds. I couldn't really say how tall he is, though, as he's still crouching and giving me that _really _unsettling stare.

It's only now that I notice he isn't wearing shoes and I almost consider asking him about it when I catch a glimpse of a pair of beaten up sneakers poking out from under the seat. Glancing down a bit more scrupulously at them, I see that the laces are splayed out all over the floor like someone just dropped a bowl of spaghetti and didn't bother to pick the noodles up. I'm not the most observant guy in the world, but to me this means that he probably didn't even bother _tying _them before putting them on.

My eyes leave the floor and slowly travel back up to his own, and lo and behold he's still staring right through me. I glance around a bit, half-hoping he could possibly be staring at anything other than me. But when I look back at him I realize that nope, it's just me.

I gradually slide away a bit more until I feel like I'm on the edge of my seat and he _fucking leans in towards me_. My eyes are practically bugging out of my skull in sheer terror at the sight of this man who does nothing but stare at me as if I were a captivating specimen under a microscope. Like seriously, I know I stand out and all because, well, it's _me _for God's sake, but I don't actually consider myself to be so interesting as for someone to continuously stare at me for minutes on end. I sit there, waiting for him to say _some_thing, _anything_, but he doesn't; he just does his little balancing act on his feet, nibbles his thumb and stares.

Much as he unsettles me, I would much rather him speak because then he would at least be doing something other than fucking looking at me. Very intently. With an emotionless face.

It's at this moment in time that I realize that if I want to get away from this guy, I'll have to switch seats. My eyes dart around and I nearly breathe a sigh of relief when I notice that the wall seats across from me on the other side of the train are vacant. I glance back at the weirdo, over to the seats again, back at the pale guy owling next to me, down at my backpack on the floor - which to my chagrin has fucking _fallen over _again - and then straight ahead as if I were really interested in a particular spot on the window or something.

I put my plan into action.

My hand slowly creeps down past the seat to grab the strap of my backpack without trying to be too conspicuous about it; conspicuous to you-know-who sitting right next to me, anyway. Giving the impression that I'm just stretching out a bit, I fake a yawn and stand up to sling my bag over my back and hold onto the overhead rail above me. Giving one last glance over my shoulder, I quickly make my move and plop down in the empty seat, dropping my backpack down next to me.

I smile victoriously to myself, looking across at the seat I was just sitting in. Ha ha, suck it! The guy's still looking at me though, and I have a feeling he's planning something. But exactly what that is, I have no freaking idea.

I try to tear my eyes away from him so I don't give the impression that I want to actually _talk _to him - because I really _don't _- and instead gaze out pseudo-interestedly at the roads and trees the train passes. However, I happen to get a glimpse of movement out of my peripheral vision and slowly turn my eyes to see that the guy's getting up and out of his seat. I don't think too much of it and just look back at the window, shrugging to myself; maybe he's getting off at the next stop or something?

That would certainly be nice...

However, I catch more movement out of the corner of my eye and realize with a certain dread that I'm not completely rid of this guy yet. My eyes roll up to see that- oh, _fuck me_. He's walking right towards me! Jesus, what the hell did I _do _to this guy?!

My heart stops and my eyes go wide as I try to somehow sink into my seat, but yet no matter how hard I try my back just presses up against felt and metal. He's getting closer, doing this weird sort of hunched over shuffle with his hands in his jean pockets that vaguely reminds me of Quasimodo from _The Hunchback of Notre Dame_. He takes another step and my eyes quickly dart from side to side like I'm a fox cornered by a pack of hounds in a forest owned by some rich British guy, looking for any way out of this I can think of.

But of course with my fucking luck, there are absolutely _no _other open seats in this car; _every single one is filled_. I could go back to the second car, but I'm worried about missing my stop and having to endure a trip with (gulp) _this guy_.

Another step... _holy hell, he is close now_. Goddamn it! Just get the hell away from me!

I wince when he sits down - crouches down, whatever - right next to me and I try to scooch as much to the side as I possibly can without him noticing too much. I mean, much as I don't want to sit near this guy because of how much he's _creeping me the hell out_, I don't want to look like an asshole.

...I mean, I kind of _am _an asshole, but a guy can fake being polite, right? I'd compare it to a family get-together where basically _everyone _in my entire damn family comes in and I'm just like, "I only know like half of you."

The skeleton is still staring at me, though, and I try _really hard _to act like it doesn't bother me, but inside I'm struggling to hold back from just elbowing him right in his little slightly upturned nose. Seriously, what in the _fuck _does he want from me?!

If he really wants to rob me or something, I'll just laugh when he looks through my wallet and only finds less than twenty dollars and several expired gift cards in it. Yeah, good luck with that, asshole.

Suddenly, I realize that the train is stopped and several people are paying to get off. A _lot _of people, actually. I then glance at the seats most of said people were just sitting in and _oh my God, that entire side of the train is virtually _empty!

I quickly glance over my shoulder at the guy and then back to the seats again. _This is my chance_! If I can just get over to one of those double seats and put my backpack up on one of them, _he won't be able to sit next to me!_

But... oh shit, what if he ends up _behind_ me instead?! No, no, calm down; I can just take the back seat, then! Yeah! I can do this...

Not waiting this time, I spring up from the seat like someone just lit a match under my ass, grab my backpack, inwardly curse the teaching gods for how much it fucking weighs, and book it for the back seat. I don't even look over my shoulder to see the guy's reaction; I just keep running.

I'm almost there... just a few more inches and... _yes_! I'm there!

I slide in to the window seat and drop my backpack on the one right next to me just as the doors close behind the last person and the train starts up again. I can't help but flash a smug, shit eating grin at the guy. Fuck. You. Weirdo!

...Still though, why do I get the feeling this isn't quite over yet? For some reason, I just can't shake the thought of that guy coming back here and trying to sit next to me once again. But- no, no, no.

Stop. Just fucking _stop_. Just... calm down. Take a breather. Just sit back, relax, and totally neglect the fact that the guy has gotten up once more and is now proceeding towards me. Oh yeah, I can definitely-

Wait, _what_?! What in the fucking fuck?! Why is he... no. Oh God, no. Please, please, please, _please _with a fucking cherry on top don't come back here.

No. No, no, no, no, no-

And there he stands. Right next to the seat with my backpack in it, the outside one. I slowly, nervously look up at him from under the brim of my hat, the sun bouncing off of it like a mirror as my eyes tentatively meet his. He's looking down at me with an almost... amused expression, head tilted slightly to the side and tip of his thumb in his mouth. Just like he was when I first woke up with him right next to me-

Whoa. That sounded _wrong_. Regardless, we stare each other down for a few moments, him trying not to laugh at my current situation and me trying not to look like a little bitch in front of him and utterly failing _miserably_.

And then, it fucking happens.

The train stops hard on the tracks and the driver leans on the horn, honking it at some jackass racing out in front of him to beat him to the punch (and in a Toyota Prius, no less). "Come _on_, man!" I hear him exclaim, clearly pissed.

But that's not the worst part. Oh, _no_; not even close by a fucking _mile_.

When the train stopped, my backpack flew forward and hit the back of the seat in front of it and somehow slid in between both of them to fall to the floor, meaning that the seat next to me is now virtually open to _anyone _who would want to sit there. It's only at this moment that I see my backpack on the floor and my eyes go wide.

I gasp and whip my head back up at the guy, and guess what? _He is fucking smiling_. He's practically grinning from ear to ear like he's just won the lottery and we both know exactly why; I have just lost this battle and he has won. I wouldn't really call it fair and square, but as the saying goes, "All's fair in love and war."

Fuck. _Me_.

We're moving again and I don't even try to stop him from taking his seat next to me - even though there are clearly _dozens _of others he could choose to sit in if he wanted to - because I just _know _that he'll find some way to get his pale, scrawny ass next to my own no matter _where _on this train I am. I'm no longer looking at him and am trying to stare disinterestedly ahead at a poster for some musical advertised up front, but I can still see him smirking at me out of the corner of my eye, the smug bastard.

I want to turn around and scream in his face, "What the fuck do you want with me?!" but I restrain myself; just barely, anyway. _Fuck_ is it tempting, though.

He taps me on the shoulder and I slightly flinch but otherwise act like I didn't feel it. I assume he realizes that I'm either trying to ignore him or somehow thinks I just plain old don't feel him tapping me on the shoulder, so he does it again. And again. And again.

_Fuck_, but is that annoying!

He keeps tapping me... fuck, I don't know, like twenty more times before I finally have enough of his bullshit and spin around to face him. "Can I fucking help you with something?!" I hiss lowly.

That smug expression on his thin face breaks momentarily into surprise, but it's soon gone and replaced by a serious, emotionless one. He reminds me of someone trying to sell me something; if he actually _is_, then he'd make a damn good door-to-door salesman because he has to be the most persistent bastard I've _ever _met.

Whether or not he recognizes the toxic amount of sarcasm laced within that interrogative or not, I'm not completely sure, but similar to before, he just replies with, "Yes."

I wait a few moments for him to extrapolate upon that rather vague statement, but as I guess, he isn't saying anything else until I do. What a _dick_.

I roll my eyes and sigh heavily. "Are you gonna tell me just _what exactly _it is that you need my help with?" I quip venomously.

Perhaps he actually _does _understand what sarcasm is, but he doesn't seem to let it show anywhere on his face if that's really true and all he says - once again - is, "Yes." Wow, he just really seems to love that little three-letter word because it's _all he's fucking said to me in the past five to ten minutes he's been practically stalking me_.

Another few moments of waiting for him to say something more just piss on by and I ball one of my hands into a fist while the other grips the edge of the seat, feeling like I could crush it in the palm of my hand as if I were the Hulk; I have similar thoughts about my fist connecting with his smug looking face and I try _really hard _not to slam it right into his jaw. Yeah, we'll see just how confident and creepy you are when you're lying in pain and bleeding on the floor, asswipe...

I feel as if I'm about to lose my composure and right before I do something I'll probably regret later on, he speaks. "I require your assistance with something rather... sensitive," he says mysteriously.

My eyes widen a bit and I just give him a half-confused, half-interested look. Not only has he just said something rather intriguing, but also something other than "Yes." Okay, he's got my attention now.

"Um... okay? What would that be?" I ask a bit tentatively. Much as I'd like to know what he needs my help with, I'm still a little apprehensive about it.

He looks away from me to stare at another passenger in the front of the train. I follow his eyes and we're both looking at that guy I mentioned earlier with the tacky Dick Tracy look. He raises his finger and points at the guy, who looks like he's asleep.

"That man you see in the trench coat and hat is an internationally wanted criminal."

I gasp and look between the guy and the... well, the _other _guy. Did he just say "internationally wanted criminal?"

"_That_ guy?" I point also.

"Yes," he nods to clarify. "Unfortunately, due to some security matters, I cannot give you his actual name or reveal too many details to you about him, but what I _can _tell you is that he is wanted for treason against the United States of America. He has been hunted by the CIA, the FBI, and the NSA for several years now and they are very concerned that he will attempt to sell top secret information to the highest bidder on the international black market. This information was somehow leaked from within the American government at some point in time during the last decade and has fallen into his hands; it is very likely that he was also the same one who stole the actual information in the first place."

I take a few moments to digest all this that he's said in a completely monotone fashion and take my turn to ask him, "So, you want me to like... arrest him or something?"

He shakes his head and simply says, "No." He reaches into his pocket and withdraws a very small device that kind of looks like one of those little silver colored button cell batteries that you'd put in... well fuck, I can't think of a good example, but you know what I'm talking about. Holding it up with a thumb and forefinger, he moves it a bit closer to my face so I can clearly see it.

"This is an electronic tracer," he explained. "I am sure you can imagine how this works so I won't go into all the minor details about it, but in basic sense, it allows you to digitally follow whoever or whatever it is attached to. This particular model has been used by several of your own governmental agencies to aid them in their... shall we say, 'activities' both here in the U.S. and around the world."

Wait a minute... oh _fuck_, is he going with this where I think he is? Because I really hope not. I really, _really _fucking hope not. Still, I play dumb and ask about it anyway just to confirm my initial suspicion. "And you want me to... do something with that involving Trench Coat up there?" I point across the train at the supposedly big time criminal.

"Yes," he nods in affirmation.

Ah. Okay, well at least _that _little bit's been settled. Now, all I have to do is find out just what-

"What I require you to do," he suddenly spits out like a printer rapidly shooting out paper copies of something, "is to discreetly place this tracer somewhere on his body without him noticing."

Ha ha ha! Oh my God, this guy's a riot! Wow, he almost had me going there! Holy shit, for a second there I actually thought that-

Wait a second... hold the fucking phone. He's being _serious_, isn't he? I nervously laugh and give him a humored look, hoping like hell that he's just messing with me like those guys from _Impractical Jokers _or something.

"Y-You're just fucking with me, right? Like, this is just some kind of a joke? Because if it is, then you're one funny guy!"

He isn't even fazed; hell, it's like he was _expecting _me to say something like that. Dryly, he states, "No, this is not a joke. I am sincerely asking you to place this tracer on that man before he leaves this train. This is a very serious matter involving America's national security; I do not quite understand what is so humorous about it."

Well spank my ass and call me Sally, he's serious as a goddamn heart attack. It's at this point in time that I really begin to wonder if there's more to my life than just... well, bullshit like _this_. I admit this could sort of be karma biting me in the ass for recently wanting some actual excitement to happen in my life, but this is not quite what I would call "exciting." More like "embarrassing as hell" or "annoying as an hour-long infomercial"...

...Huh, I kinda like that second one. Shit, maybe I could get it trademarked or something and people would have to pay me to say it-

A pale, bony hand suddenly waves in front of my face and I'm jolted back to the cold light of day. "Are you still here?" he asks.

Actually, you know what? _No_, I'm _not_ still here; between that little ten-second lapse in our conversation and right now, I decided to take a really fun trip to Disney World in Florida and have the motherfucking time of my life! _Yes, of course I'm still fucking here._

These snarky comments remain in my head where they really should, however, and I just nod affirmatively.

"Good," he replies before dropping the tracer into my hand that I completely forgot was open.

Well, looks like I don't really have a choice in this matter. Still though, this sounds sort of dangerous and I'm nervous as fucking hell as to just how I'm going to get this little shit on the internationally wanted criminal less than thirty feet away from me. I decide to ask him. "So, uh... how should I put this thing on him without him noticing me and that I actually did it?" I inquire, holding the tracer up to his eye level between my thumb and index finger for effect.

He just blinks and says, "Oh, you'll have to figure that out yourself."

...What? If I heard him correctly, he basically just told me to fuck off and do this all on my own because it's not his problem or something along those lines. I'm seething with rage at this point and I have to take a few deep breaths to calm myself down.

"Are you _fucking kidding me_?!" I hiss in a lowered voice, wanting to murder him right here and now on this public train. "That's _it_? Figure it out myself? How the hell am I supposed to get this little shit on him without him knowing I did it? Do you realize how complicated of a thing that is to do?!"

Skeleton Man just shrugs.

"In theory, it's actually not very complicated at all; you simply just walk up to him from any given direction and place the tracer on any area of his body. Just think of it as reverse pickpocketing: in order to successfully do such a thing to an unsuspecting victim, you have to actually place the item somewhere on them and then slip away undetected before they notice that something just happened. Except in this case, he can't notice it at all and most certainly can't notice you doing it. Oh, and you have a small time frame to actually get it done in."

"...Exactly how long are we talking here?" I ask, already just knowing that the answer I'm going to get isn't going to be very favorable in my corner.

"A little under five minutes," he replies almost immediately.

Oh, _outstanding_! Not only do I have to put a tracer on a full grown man whom I've never met before in my entire life without him knowing it actually happened, but I also have less than five fucking minutes to do it in. I'm beginning to wonder if the universe just hates me.

Wait a minute... how does he know that in the first place? The fuck, was he stalking this guy _too_? "Um, just out of curiosity, how do you know when he's getting off the train, anyway?"

"It's his routine," is his very vague reply to me.

Realizing I'm not going to get anything more out of him in this particular category and wanting to kind of get back to my original thought, I quirk an eyebrow. "And you couldn't just do this yourself... why?"

"Because you are a teenager and are much less likely to be conspicuous than an adult like me."

"Well, that guy and I have a pretty big age gap. Wouldn't I be _more _conspicuous than you because of the fact that I'm a teenager hanging around someone like him?"

"In this instance, no."

Nothing else is said between us; we just stare each other down for about half a minute before I realize that there's no way I can get out of this. Even if I hit the stop request strip and book it off the train, something tells me that this guy will somehow be able to find me no matter where on this planet I go. In simple terms, if I do anything other than what he wants me to, I'm screwed.

Hell, if he has the power and the means to follow me and this other guy around and knows his own goddamn daily routine - shit, maybe even _mine_, for God's sake - then I seriously don't want to find out what else he's capable of. He doesn't really seem like the sort of guy someone would want to piss off.

Begrudgingly, I slowly stand up and glance at the tracer in the palm of my hand. Well, here's to you, little buddy. I carefully step over my backpack still on the floor in between the seats and walk out past the guy to find myself smack dab in the middle of the aisle. I swallow nervously, holding onto the overhead hand rail as we round a tight corner and the train sharply jerks to the side.

As I shake my head to really no one in particular other than myself, I'm about to embark on my mission to save America when I hear the guy in the seat right behind me snap his fingers together and say, "Oh!" as if he's just remembered something important. I turn around to face him and ask him what he wants.

"I almost forgot; before you put the bug on him, you'll need to peel off the plastic backing on it so it will actually stick."

Oh, so it _was _something important. _Really _important. Like, "If-you-forget-to-do-this-one-step-then-everything-you-just-did-was-pretty-much-for-naught" important.

And to think that he almost _forgot_ about it! I'm starting to wonder whose side this guy is really on. I'd love to tell him to shove this little electronic bastard right up his ass and leave me alone, but I kind of like my personal privacy, thank you very much and just keep it tucked away in the back of my brain with many of my other sarcastic comments for possible future use. Hey, you never know...

Getting on with my involuntary task, I begin to slowly make my way up toward the guy, every step I take bringing me that much closer to an international criminal. When I'm about halfway there, I glance back over my shoulder at the guy, faintly hoping he'll take mercy on me and switch places with this very reluctant teenager to do his own dirty work. But he just waves his hand at the guy in a "go-on-and-do-it" sort of gesture.

I sigh heavily and roll my eyes but keep moving forward nonetheless, wanting to just get this over with. At this point, I'd rather do all of tonight's homework that's due for tomorrow than go through with this, and you _know _I don't want to do something when I say that. A few more steps and I'm less than ten feet away from the guy in the Rick Blaine getup.

...You know, the guy Humphrey Bogart played in the 1942 classic _Casablanca_? That one famous old movie? The black and white one? Whatever, fuck you.

I distinctly remember the tracer gripped tightly in the palm of my free hand and I open it up to take one last look at the little electronic wonder before it finds a new home on the trench coat of... some guy. Said guy looks like he's sound asleep and... I start to feel kind of confident. I mean, if he's out cold, then how's he gonna know if I just put something on him? Well, let's just hope like hell that he isn't a light sleeper.

Taking a deep breath, I release the hand rail and step forward to hold the bug out and put it on the guy just before recalling that I'm supposed to take the backing off of it first or else it won't, you know, actually _stick_. Swearing under my breath, I get the little strip of plastic off the tracer's back and carelessly discard it somewhere on the ground. Hell, the cleanup guys can get it later; I've got a country to save here.

I begin to reach out for him when he suddenly wakes up and nearly touches me. I jump back and quickly act as if I'm stretching or something, though it probably ends up looking more like I'm trying to pole dance with the overhead hand rail than anything else. Great, that's just all I need right now; the entire train thinking I'm some kind of male stripper or something.

...Now _there's _an unsettling thought for you.

The guy seems to be stretching himself, yawning and moving his arms out to the sides as he did when he woke up a few moments ago. Thankfully, he doesn't notice me - or, at least, I don't _think _he notices me - and I breathe a small sigh of relief. Thank Christ, because that was a close one. I'd be a horrible James Bond.

Okay, well now that he's up, looks like I'm going to have to go for a different approach. I pull my phone out of my pocket just to check the time and am somewhat shocked to see that I have a little less than three minutes left until this guy gets off the train. Shit!

I just stand there for a little while, trying to think of some way I can get the tracer on this guy in a somewhat discreet manner. I'm running out of options and running out of time, and unless I can somehow chalk up a brilliant plan within the next three minutes to inconspicuously bug this guy before he gets off, then my ass is grass. Out of some nervous habit, I check my phone once more...

...and that's when the idea hits me. Huh. Okay... I mean, it's a little out there, but if I time everything right then it could probably work.

All right. I can do this. As Woody Harrelson said in _Zombieland_, time to nut up or shut up.

Taking a breath and mustering the little bit of self-confidence and courage I actually have in myself, I take a step forward and "trip." I yell out, "Oh, shit!" as I'm falling and my phone clatters to the floor in three separate pieces; the actual phone only a few feet away from me, the battery somewhere else, and the battery cover... yeah, that goes somewhere else, too.

I scramble to find everything I just dropped on the floor, getting down on my hands and knees and acting all frantic-like. I apologize several times to the guy and anyone else unfortunate enough to be nearby at the time, and the funny thing is that it's actually somewhat genuine; my face is red as a goddamn tomato and I honestly just want to go back to my seat, even if it means sitting next to _him _again. After some time, I manage to scoop up my phone - _all _of it - and still apologizing to really no one in particular, make my walk of shame down the aisle back to my seat.

Mr. Internationally Wanted Criminal is staring at me like I'm on crack, and to be honest, I can't really blame him. I mean, really; teenage kid trips, falls right next to you, loses his phone, invades your personal space to retrieve it and the pieces that go with it, makes an entire spectacle out of the whole thing, and just draws a whole lot of unnecessary attention to you in general. If it were me in his place, I'd probably want to kick said teenager right in the balls.

Oh, well; he can live with it. Fuck, he's a traitor to my country, so why the hell should I give _him _of all people any sympathy?

I finally get back to my seat and plop down with a heavy sigh, glancing down at the pieces of my phone gripped in my hand. I put it back together before turning it back on to make sure it still works and am more than pleased when it turns on. Thing's a cheap piece of shit, but it could probably survive a nuclear blast if it ever happened to end up in the middle of one.

Replacing it back in my pocket, I feel the guy's eyes on me and glance sideways at him. He's looking at me curiously, tip of his thumb in his mouth and the slightest hint of a smile on that pale face of his. "All right, I did your dirty work," I state. "Now will you _please_ leave me alone?"

The smile grows ever so slightly. "Yes, I do believe that you have served your purpose here. That was some fine work on your end, I must say."

I can't tell if he's being sarcastic or if he's genuinely complimenting me, so I just reply with, "Um... thanks, I guess...?"

"I most likely would have placed the bug on him in much a similar fashion, actually... well, had I done it myself."

Heh heh, yeah, if you "actually did it yourself." That's pretty funny there, asshole; I don't ever remember you exactly volunteering to do it alone. Whatever, fuck him. The main point here is that I'm done playing "errand boy" for this weirdo and most likely won't have to ever see him again after this ordeal...

Oh, shit! Damn, I almost forgot to tell you how I put the tracer on the guy! Remember how I had my phone in one hand while I was falling? Yeah, well in the other one was the bug, which I put on the bottom of the guy's coat without him noticing. He was probably more stunned by the fact that a dumbass like myself had fallen flat on his face and dropped his phone all over the floor in the first place to notice what I was actually doing.

I would call that a pretty smooth maneuver... well, I _would_, had it actually been "smooth" at all. I wouldn't really call drawing the attention of every other passenger on a public transit vehicle to myself while falling face first right in the middle of the aisle and dropping my piece-of-shit phone all over the place "smooth," but if that's your honest definition of the word, then by all means please use it. You get the idea here, though.

Anyway, the guy beside me is still staring at me with that creepy look on his face, but for some reason it doesn't bother me nearly as much as it did before. I imagine it has something to do with the fact that I don't think it's even possible for me to be as embarrassed in public as I just was, so compared to what just happened, this is pretty much nothing. That doesn't make him any less unsettling to me, of course, but I suppose I'll just take what I get.

Some more time goes by and the guy's no longer looking at me, thank God. I just breathe a heavy sigh of relief and rest my head back against the seat, trying to continue from where I'd left off earlier when I was rudely awakened by you-know-who. I close my eyes and try to fall asleep, and after a little bit, I finally do.

* * *

I hear some hushed talking next to me and slowly open my eyes to see an older looking man in a black suit and hat leaning down to murmur something to the guy next to me, who's leaning in and listening intently to him.

Do these two... _know_ each other? It seems highly likely. I mean, why else would they be talking like this to each other? After all, no one on a public train really goes up to someone else and starts up a conversation with them just for the hell of it. Actually, no one really does that in _general _regardless of where they are, myself included.

I yawn as I sit up, rubbing my eyes and pulling my phone out to check the time. I have maybe ten minutes before I have to get off, so time isn't an issue at the moment. I see that it's only been one minute since I fell asleep and frown. Goddamn it. I notice the younger guy motion to me and the older one looks down at me under the brim of his hat, a small smile on his face.

"Ah, so _this_ is the young man who assisted you, Ryuzaki?" he directs with a hand.

Ryuzaki? Is that this guy's name? I mean, I've heard of some weird sounding names before but "Ryuzaki" just plain old takes the cake. Sounds pretty foreign to me... Asian, maybe?

"Yes," the man supposedly called "Ryuzaki" nods to the older man. He glances over at me from his seat beside me. "He has proven himself to be very useful. Perhaps... future contact material?"

My eyebrows rise in curiosity. "Wait, what?" I ask for him to repeat but am utterly ignored.

The older man glances from "Ryuzaki" to me and back. "Hmm, we shall see. However, there are currently more pressing issues at hand, such as our man in the front of the train."

"Hey, I have a question!" I state, getting a little pissed off that neither of these guys seem to give a shit about the fact that I'm trying to get their attention.

"Ah yes, he will be getting off two stops from now," Ryuzaki nods.

"Hello?" I slowly wave my hand, hoping either of these two strangers will at least acknowledge my damn existence as a breathing human being.

It proves futile, as the older man steps back and Ryuzaki gets up and out of his seat. "Well then, I suppose we should be getting on our way, Watari."

...Am I fucking invisible or something? I roll my eyes and just slump back into the seat, staring out the window while these two go and do... well, whatever the hell they're about to do. Apparently from the small part of their conversation I happened to pick up, it involves stalking Trench Coat man up there, but I could really care less; hell, they could mug his ass in a dark alleyway for all I care. At this point, I just want to be left completely alone.

I'm about to nod off again when I hear Ryuzaki address me with, "Thank you for your assistance, young man. It is much appreciated and your country thanks you."

My eyes widen and I look up and over at him, a bit of shock on my face. This is the first time he's been actually _polite _to me since we met... well, other than when he may or may not have complimented me for the little "job" I did for him earlier, but I'm not really sure if that was even a compliment. "Uh... y-yeah, sure," I reply, somewhat unsure of how to respond to that. "No problem."

The older guy - "Watari," wasn't it? - steps into the conversation. "Yes, America is certainly indebted to your services here today." The small smile drops and his expression suddenly becomes much more serious, scaring me somewhat. In a lowered voice, he says to me, "Of course, you would have good conscience not to tell anyone else about what happened here today, I hope? This was, after all, top secret business involving an internationally wanted criminal."

Looking between the two of them, it takes me a few moments to truly understand what he's saying and then I finally see the metaphorical picture they're trying to paint me. My eyes widen and I shake my head furiously. "O-Oh, n-no! O-Of course not!" I insist. "No man, my lips are sealed. Besides, I doubt anyone would believe me even if I _did _tell them about today. As far as I'm concerned, this all happened while I was asleep here in the back of the train."

They both look at each other for a moment, almost as if seemingly deciding whether or not they should trust me... which is probably _exactly _what they're doing. My heart starts pounding and I can feel the sweat trying to get out of my pores. Shit, I _really _hope they decide to just leave me alone after this...

They both look back at me after a little bit and I smile nervously, quickly glancing between the two of them. Oh shit, here it comes: they're going to say that they _can't _trust me, aren't they? That I have to come with them and won't see the light of day because I'm now a witness to a classified government operation? Well, goodbye life, hello prison...

But to my utter disbelief, they both just give me small smiles and nod before turning on their heels and walking away. Um... okay? Does this mean that I'm... off the hook now? All in the clear?

I decide to keep my eye on them until the trench coat guy gets off at his stop and they both follow him off the train. Even as we pull away, I still gaze at them until they're completely out of eyeshot and can no longer see them, and only when they're long gone do I breathe out the biggest sigh of pure exasperation that I've probably breathed out in my whole life. My head falls heavily against the seat's headrest and my eyes close.

I have a hard time trying to remember everything that just happened from the time I was woken up by that Ryuzaki guy until he and Watari followed the dude in the trench coat off the train. Actually, on second thought, it's probably better that I try to _forget _this whole thing as evidenced by the disguised warning I was given to keep my mouth shut just minutes ago. Not like I was planning on telling anyone else about this anyway, but now I have an actual _reason _not to.

I open my eyes and glance to the side to see my backpack still lying upright on the floor and suddenly remember the shitload of homework I have to do tonight. I think about swearing or bitching about it to myself, but for some reason, I don't. Homework is pretty much my least favorite thing in the whole damn world, but right now it doesn't seem so bad. Guess going through a life changing experience makes you sort of put things into perspective.

Picking my bag up and off the floor, I set it down on the seat next to me with a heavy thud. I'm not sure why, but I open it up and go through my stuff just to make sure I didn't forget anything back at school. Little late now to go all the way back there and get whatever I may or may not have left there by accident, but... I don't know, guess it's just a compulsion of mine or something of the sort.

What I find completely and utterly shocks me to the very core. I don't notice anything out of the ordinary at first and am pleased to see I've managed to actually remember all my stuff from school today... and then my hand brushes against something that I know for a fact was _not _there before. I gasp and grip it, feeling it and realizing it's a piece of paper. What the hell...?

Pulling it out, I bring it up to my eyes and cannot believe my eyes: on the piece of wrinkled notebook paper in my hands is a large, black capital "L." But this isn't just any ordinary capital "L"; oh, no. No, this particular "L" has been written onto the piece of paper in an old fashioned gothic style like the way _he _would have done it.

It... no, it _can't _be. There's no fucking way in hell...

I blink just to make sure the paper isn't some kind of mirage or something and take a closer look at it. Tracing the shape of the single letter with a finger, I gasp when I realize what this could mean. And by "could mean," I mean that there's a 0.00001% chance that this could actually even mean what I really think it might.

Did I just meet... _L_? _The _great detective L, in the flesh?

I shake my head, not wanting to believe what I have in my hands. But the evidence is damning and I can't help but chuckle incredulously. _Me_, of all people? Out of the billions of other people on this planet, I meet _him_? This seriously can't be happening.

I haven't eaten in a few hours and I tend to daydream when my blood sugar drops, so... maybe this was all just one big daydream? Oh, wait... yeah, the paper in my hands. Nope, not a daydream; everything that just happened to me was in _real life_. Un-fucking-believable.

I just... I just don't get it. I mean, seriously, _me_? I really can't get that thought out of my head.

Wanting to distract myself for a little bit from this revelation of mine, I turn back to my bag and prepare to take out my math textbook and fool myself into believing I'll actually scan over the problems in it with a purpose when I damn well know I _won't_. As I reach for it, I drop the piece of paper like the clumsy dumbass I am. No wonder I never signed up for the football team...

The paper flutters to the floor and I swear under my breath as I bend down to retrieve it, preparing to quickly stuff it back into my bag where it belongs when I see something I didn't realize before: there's something written on the back of the paper. Upon closer inspection, I make it out to be a phone number of some sort. Um... all righty, then.

So, uh... I guess L left me his number, too? Or was that just an agent of his...? Shit, I don't know, but what I _do _know is that somehow, in some way, this piece of notebook paper is linked to L and it's right here in my hand. This whole situation of mine is just getting weirder and weirder by the minute.

I shake my head with a sigh and fold the paper up into my pocket, keeping it there for later when I get home so I can take a closer look at it in private. I zip my backpack shut and just sit back in my seat, staring blankly at the back of the seat in front of me. My mouth is hanging wide open and I'm struggling to come to terms with the reality that I may have just met the world's greatest detective and also someone who works for him.

I'm about to seriously begin contemplating this whole thing when I notice that my stop is up next and swear to myself as I reach up to hit the stop request strip, getting out of my seat and slinging my backpack over my shoulder with some effort. I move up to the front of the train as it stops and pay the fare to get off along with a few other regular riders here that I happen to recognize but don't really care about.

As I begin the short walk back home, a small smile makes its way to my face. Maybe everything that just happened to me in the last half hour was just bullshit and I should forget about it ever happening at all, but then again... maybe it could be a turning point in my life. I mean, I _was _looking for some excitement in my life, and ultimately that's what I got. It wasn't really the exact _kind _of "excitement" I was looking for, but it was excitement nonetheless.

In the last thirty minutes, I met the strangest human being it's ever been my displeasure - or perhaps... _pleasure_? - to meet who also just so happens to dress worse than I do, helped take down an international criminal, and may or may not have actually come into contact with the great L himself. All in all, today was just one giant clusterfuck of God-knows-what, but in all honesty, what just happened was actually... pretty cool. I mean, seriously, when the hell is something like this ever going to happen to me again?

Maybe it was a sign or something...

I pat my right front pocket to make sure the piece of paper is still there. To be honest, I probably won't ever call that number, but who knows? Maybe I will...

Until then, though, I've got homework to half-ass for tomorrow. Hey, you gotta take everything one step at a time, right?

* * *

**Hope none of you thought I was "L-bashing" or anything in there, ha ha. If I remember correctly, I once watched a taped behind-the-scenes interview with Alessandro Juliani - the guy who voices L in the English dub of the anime series - and when describing the kind of person he considers L to be, he said something along the lines of, "L is an enigma. He is the guy who, if he sat next to you on a train, you'd get up and move to the other side." I sorta thought about this quote over and over again while writing this story because to be honest, if a guy who looked like L in real life tried to sit next to me **_**anywhere**_**, I would probably do the same thing. Ha ha ha.**


End file.
